


look at everything we've grown

by gloomysunshine, louiswantstomarryharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Harry's 70 and Louis is 72, M/M, gemma's pure, old larry, their kids are called Darcy and Augustus 'cause we're dorks, there's a lot of kids and a lot of flashbacks, there's no smut sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 19:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12564856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloomysunshine/pseuds/gloomysunshine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/louiswantstomarryharry/pseuds/louiswantstomarryharry
Summary: Flight number 2938 ready for boarding in 5 minutes, sounds the intercom above them.“That’s our cue!” shouts Darcy, as loud as Louis ever was in his youth, and all four of them start to gather up all their luggage and make their way to the line forming in front of the gate entrance. Gus and Darcy are back at their bickering, while Harry and Louis slowly put all their things in order, folding up old crosswords and putting away reading glasses, Louis’ jacket tucked under Harry’s arm. They’re watching their kids with stars in their eyes, stardust almost spilling out of their ears. Louis lays his head on Harry’s shoulder, slowly rocking along as they meander towards the front of the line. They sigh out at the exact same time, and when their eyes meet, they know.It’s been a long time since they’ve been home.A song fic based off of Fun.'s song The Gambler, featuring teeth-rotting fluff and a tiny bit of angst.





	look at everything we've grown

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hello, it's allium and nina and we're very proud to show you our first ever finished fic, and also our first ever collab.
> 
> This took a lot of screaming and memes, several weeks of writing consistently and we can't say anything other than that we're very happy with the end-result and this definitely won't be the last fic we're publishing. So keep your eyes open (insert side-eye emoji)
> 
> A special thanks to silvia, ella, courtney and brianna for beta'ing and screaming along.

_Slow down, we've got time left to be lazy, all the kids have bloomed from babies into flowers in our eyes…._

 

The early morning sun outside is bright, the sunlight washing over the street and the trees lining either side, the dappled shadows casting over their faces slightly. Harry’s glasses are low on the bridge of his nose, eyebrows drawn together in a focused knot, the pen between his fingers ticking every few seconds onto the folded up newspaper he has on his lap. There’s swallows in the distance, chirping out their secret conversations as they swoop down between the tree branches. Louis hitches up the blanket draping across his lap a little as the wind blows in their direction, his wrinkled and worn hand holding onto it tightly as the other one holds a book in between his thumb and forefinger.

 

_We've got fifty good years left to spend out in the garden…._

 

Harry inhales loudly before he clears his throat and opens up his mouth, “Lou, what’s a five letter word for eye fluid?”

 

Louis slowly looks up from his book and closes it, leaving his pinky between the pages. His eyes find his husband’s and he sarcastically raises an eyebrow. “Can’t you google it, babe?” Harry snickers at him in response as he nods, joints clicking and popping as he stands up to go inside and fetch his phone. It takes a few moments before he’s back, grinning, with his glasses in his hand, “It’s rheum, apparently.”

 

“Rheum,” Louis echoes, his eyes far off in the distance as if he’s reciting it to himself mentally. He can almost sense Harry’s fond eyes following his every move, so he takes his time, squeezing his eyes for good measure. Then, re-opening to the page he left his book at and looking back down, he says, “I knew that.”

 

Harry lets out a low laugh, “Of course you did.” he responds, patting Louis’ clothed knee before putting his reading glasses back on and, definitely not without struggle, lowering back down into his seat. It creaks a little.

 

Half an hour passes, and with the sun rising, Louis finds it harder and harder to find shade to read with, so eventually he tears a bit of paper from Harry’s crossword bundle and puts it in between the pages as he closes it. Harry grumbles, saying he should get his own crosswords if he’s going to continue doing that, but Louis knows the bickering hides a smile. Louis loves how Harry’s things fit together with his, always has, and will never get over how seamlessly and perfectly they both melt into each other, as if they’ve always been like that.

 

_I don't care to beg your pardon, we should live until we die…._

 

By the time it’s noon, Harry helps Louis out of his seat and into the small dining room, the curtains filtering the daylight perfectly. Their hands bump into one another, familiar gold bands clinking against each other as they grab plates, cutlery and the freshly-baked bread from their kitchen. Once the table is set and they’re both taking their first bites out of their messily put-together sandwiches, Harry feels two eyes settle comfortably onto his face. He looks up to immediately see blue, the endless pools of cerulean that he’s still falling into after all these years, staring kindly at him with a crooked smile. “Hi, love,” Louis whispers, the intimacy flowing out from his lips and hanging in the air like a low mist, the word settling around them like an old familiar blanket.

 

“Hi,” Harry whispers back softly, understandably confused at where his husband is going with this. It’s always a surprise, he feels, no matter how well they know each other. “What’s the matter, darling?”

 

Louis then chuckles to himself, the crinkles by his eyes deepening and forming in a way Harry loves most, “I’m just so lucky, you know?” Their hands meet, the sleeves of their coats bumping into the plates, their buttons clinking together as they collide with the porcelain. As their worn-out fingers brush over one another, Louis adds, “Although you do have quite a bit more wrinkles than you used to when we were young. ” His tone playful and light as he takes his other hand and pokes him teasingly in the cheek.

 

“Hey,” Harry responds indignantly, “I’m still just as spry in my old age! ” He raises his chin haughtily and feigns offense until he gives up and breaks into giggles, Louis letting out a blinding smile, squeezing his hand in response and turning back to continue eating. As soon as Harry himself turns back to his food he feels a tug on his hand. Harry rolls his eyes, “What’s it now? Wanna insult my greying hair next, huh?”

 

Louis knocks his shoulder into Harry’s. “Well actually, _love_ ,” he says snarkily, “The kids called this morning, while you were taking your hour-long shower, and they were talking about a taking a bit of a trip.”

 

Choosing to ignore that first statement, Harry flicks his gaze sideways and replies, “A trip to where, then?” as he lifts his sandwich up to his mouth and sticks his tongue out to take a bite.

 

Louis tilts his head to the left, his eyes narrowing, and from one moment to the next, he’s scoffing: “You know where to. Where else could we go?”

 

Harry swallows and his lips split into a wide grin, “Reckon we should give Auntie Gemma a visit then?”

 

. . .

 

Three days later with last-minute tickets in hand, suitcases all packed, there’s a group of four walking into the heavily air-conditioned halls of LAX airport, the wheels of their luggage rolling on the ground behind them as they make their way through the crowd. Darcy, with her long hair following her every step she takes, has a bright smile directed towards the check-in counter as soon as they approach it, Augustus sporting an identical expression right beside her. Harry and Louis hang back, however, a set of sweaty fingers clasped around the handles of their suitcases, having had enough of airports to last a lifetime. They’re not nervous per se, as they’ve flown around the world often enough, but returning to their homeland does bring back a flood of memories they’re not sure they want. Not all of them, at least.

 

Darcy’s voice brings them out of their bubble, reminding them to get their passports out. Harry turns to her and hands them both his and Louis’ passports and turns his head back to Louis.

 

“Our passports used to be a lot more packed than nowadays, huh, Lou?” he grins.

 

“A lot did happen in these walls,” Louis smiles with a far off look in his face. He’s walked these tiles so often he’s surprised they’re not completely worn down to the cement by now. “Used to feel so unfamiliar, yeah? Like we were on a different planet.”

 

Harry chuckles with a nod, “Like space explorers.”

 

. . .

 

_We were barely 18 when we crossed collective hearts…._

 

“Haz, c’mere look at this!!” Louis shouts as he races down the airport corridor, stopping at one of the big floor to ceiling windows and pressing his hands and nose against the glass.

 

Harry turns toward Louis’ voice, his plane ticket stuck in his mouth as he tries to juggle his suitcase and his backpack in both hands. He’s stumbling, struggling to keep up with this lightning in a bottle named Louis at the moment. Harry’s shirt is sticking to his back, he’s running on a little more than 4 hours of sleep, and he’s pretty sure both of his shoelaces on his purple trainers are untied, but the excitement and the rush of _holy fuck were in a different bloody country recording songs in real professional studios with managers and producers and record labels_ keeps his eyes wide awake and his hands jittery.

 

He catches up to Louis and stands next to him, dropping his luggage and his ticket at his feet as he stares out at the dozens of planes rolling across the vast landing strip. He puts one of his hands on the glass next to Louis’ and links both of their pinkies together.

 

There’s lights everywhere, from the planes and the city, with the darkening sky in the background. It’s beautiful, and both boys fall quiet, taking in their surroundings and breathing it all in.

 

_It was cold, but it got warm when you barely crossed my eye…._

 

“This is absolutely mad,” Louis says, his forehead lightly thumping onto the glass, breath fogging it up slightly, his pinky wrapping around Harry’s even tighter. Their eyes meet shortly, and a blush colours both their faces. They stay like that for a few moments, looking at one another, and back to the skyline. Eventually, Louis’ face creeps up into a grin, “Almost as mad as that yellow shirt you’re sporting, though.”

 

Harry knocks into Louis’ shoulder as he’s sticking his tongue out at him and exclaiming, “I’ll have you know this is _couture_ I’m wearing. I’m a big famous pop star now, didn’t you know?”

 

“Since when is Abercrombie couture, then, pop star?” Louis asks, happily accepting any chance he gets to tease Harry, “If you’re so famous, can’t you afford better shoes than those purple monstrosities on your feet?”

 

When Harry thinks about it, combining his yellow shirt with his purple shoes might not have been the best idea, but it was 5 am when they left their London flat, so he wasn’t exactly in a clear state of mind. Maybe the sleep deprivation is getting to him after all.

 

He really must be hallucinating then as he starts to hear a boisterous tune float down the corridor, but Louis turns and bolts off, tossing behind his shoulder a quick shout.

 

“There’s live music over there, c’mon, Hazza, don’t be a slowpoke! Let’s check it out!”

 

Harry opens his mouth, but closes it and sighs, feigning annoyance, but a little smirk sneaking onto his face anyway. Louis is just being himself, something he’s gotten familiar with, something that he’s becoming way too fond of. Multiple suitcases in hand, a jacket possibly left behind, he chases Louis down the hallway, following the flash of gold bobbing through the crowd that’s beginning to form around the three musicians banging out the lively tune. There’s clapping and stomping of feet when he manages to worm himself past the first circle of people, muttering out a string of _excuse me_ ’s and _pardon me_ ’s as he pushes through.

 

_And then you turned, put out your hand…._

 

He spots Louis amid the music, next to a guitarist and a guy banging his bag and a cardboard box repeatedly. Louis is light on his feet, twirling around as he claps his hands to the rhythm. Louis’ face lights up (s _ometimes it hurts to look at him, he shines so brightly,_ Harry thinks) as his eyes brush over Harry in the crowd. They soften almost immediately, and he stretches out a hand toward Harry, inviting him to dance in the center of the crowd, one of the drummers smiling knowingly at the two as he picks up the speed.

 

_And you asked me to dance….._

 

Harry’s heart is pounding inside his chest, feeling as if his ribcage could burst from the adrenaline. He drops all of his luggage right where he’s standing, his smile feeling like it’s about to crack his face open. Louis’ responding grin makes his eyes almost disappear into his face as the crinkles next to them deepen, and everything fades away as soon as their fingers meet, the world spinning into a blur behind them. Even the music disappears, the sound of hearts beating and harsh breaths whooshing out the only thing that fills the air. Louis lifts their tangled hands together and tries to turn Harry into a spin, failing in the process because of Harry’s lack of dancing skills and an abundance of clumsy flailing limbs. But it doesn’t matter, because all they can see is the almost palpable gleam of happiness materializing in front of them, their laughter transforming into whole supernovas and electrifying the air. Like they’re creating their own personal solar system right there, the real one in the sky above be damned.

 

_I knew nothing of romance, but it was love at second sight….._

 

When the music, in real life that is, actually does die down, they’re panting, noses touching and chests heaving as they gasp for breath. The crowds have thinned out without them noticing, but when they turn to head back to the other boys, they nearly collide with their handler Paul and his broad chest, crossing his arms and sporting a firm look on his face.

 

“Oops?” Louis offers between breaths, Harry’s face turns guilty, his eyes casting down as he toes the floor beneath him, unconsciously scooting closer to Louis and pressing both of their shoulders together to ground himself.

 

Paul only grunts, and nods his head toward the exit.

“The car is ready out front, let’s go.”  

 

They figure they got off easy this time, Louis shooting Harry a relieved smile as they gather their luggage and make their way out the door to the street outside, where a big black van with tinted windows is waiting for them. _Here goes_ , Harry thinks, embarking on a story he’s not prepared for. He knows, though, that Louis will always be there to guide him. And as a thumb strikes over the back of his tense hand, he knows for sure.

 

Things would turn out okay.

 

. . .

 

They’re waiting at the gate when Darcy decides to get everyone a well-deserved coffee, leaving the men to themselves. Harry’s looking up the time of their flight and Louis is distracted with finding some leftover peppermint in his bag, but it’s then that Gus turns to both of his dads and figures now is a good time to speak up.

 

“Thank you,” he starts, making them both look up at him in surprise, “for you know, going with us on this trip again. Although I’d love to have Sharon and the kids with me, I do think we’re better off on our own.” It makes a set of smiles form on Louis and Harry’s faces, Harry reaching out his arm towards his son, Gus happily meeting him in the middle. They embrace for a moment, until Darcy’s approaching voice tears them out of it.

 

“You are so your father’s son!” she yells, kicking her foot out to hit her brother’s calf and balancing the tray of coffees in one hand, passing out the cups to Harry and Louis. Augustus turns around and scrunches his nose at her as he reaches out to accept his coffee. He can handle ten times more than this, but he’s in a special mood.

 

“At least I never cried during _Love, Actually,_ ” Gus retorts. It’s a low blow, but he doesn’t care.

 

“Oh shut up, will you? That was one time!” Darcy sticks her tongue out at her brother, while Louis chuckles behind them and a faint ‘ _Love Actually_ is a real tear jerker, y’know?’ comes from Harry’s mouth. Laughter fills the air around them.

 

 _Flight number 2938 ready for boarding in 5 minutes,_ sounds the intercom above them.

 

“That’s our cue!” shouts Darcy, as loud as Louis ever was in his youth, and all four of them start to gather up all their luggage and make their way to the line forming in front of the gate entrance. Gus and Darcy are back at their bickering, while Harry and Louis slowly put all their things in order, folding up old crosswords and putting away reading glasses, Louis’ jacket tucked under Harry’s arm. They’re watching their kids with stars in their eyes, stardust almost spilling out of their ears. Louis lays his head on Harry’s shoulder, slowly rocking along as they meander towards the front of the line. They sigh out at the exact same time, and when their eyes meet, they know.

 

It’s been a long time since they’ve been home.

 

. . .

 

Louis’ feet are hanging off the side of the bed, his head resting on the wall behind him as he bops to the music coming from his iPod. He’s reading some trashy tabloid called _The Sun_ , holding it in front of him. It’s some ridiculous column about a girl who ate four thousand sponges that he really couldn’t give two shits about, but it’s always amusing to see what bullshit stories they can come up with, especially the “dirt” that they have on One Direction.

 

When he’s halfway through the article, which turns out to be amusing, actually, he hears the front door slam shut, and he takes out one of his earbuds. A confused look knots his eyebrows together as two feet stomp up to his bedroom door, revealing a very distressed Harry barreling through and then flopping, face first, onto the bed.

 

“Hazza?” Louis starts, “Is everything okay?”

 

A groan escapes from beneath Harry, and Louis goes to sit on his knees, hand landing on his lower back, slowly trailing upwards. Another sound comes from Harry’s mouth, but it sounds more like a sob instead. Fully alarmed now, Louis goes to wrap his arms around Harry’s shaking body and gently pulls him into his lap, arms trailing up to cup Harry’s increasingly wet cheeks.

 

A few quiet sobs leave Harry’s pressed lips, his entire body slack and still shaking a little bit, tears flowing freely from his closed eyes, lashes sticking to his skin. Louis holds him tightly, his warmth spreading over Harry’s body.

 

“Haz darling, I can’t help you if I don’t understand what’s wrong, okay?” Louis swipes his thumbs underneath Harry’s eyes while Harry takes a big breath and nods, opening his eyes and looking downward, his hands coming up to circle Louis’ wrists.

 

“I just--” he starts, and he takes another gulp of air, “I just came back from a Modest! meeting,” Harry finishes with a low voice. “You know, when Angelica told me that Richard needed to see me about something important? Yeah, that was it.”

 

Louis’ eyebrows scrunch together a little more, his lips settling into a hard line, “Okay, go on.”

 

Harry lets go of Louis’ wrists and sits up a little, shuffling backward so that Harry is sitting cross legged in front of Louis, their knees pressed together. Louis takes his hands off of Harry’s face, using the left one to sweep his messed up curls off of his forehead and trails it down his face to the hands in his lap, interlocking their fingers together. Harry looks up at Louis for a second, then looks back down and studies his and Louis’ joined hands, taking a deep breath.

 

“They said I have to act more ‘masculine’, make it more obvious that I’m attracted to girls. Not- not act so feminine all the time? Like, like _I_ would be the sole reason we would fail as a band, something about demographics or whatever. Maintaining a certain image that our fans expect.” he continues with a sigh. “And I just, Louis, I wasn’t even doing anything. I thought I was just being myself, I thought that’s what they wanted.” Harry finishes, shrugging his shoulders with a hopeless look etched into his face, looking up at Louis with a crease in between his eyebrows.

 

_I swear when I grow up, I won't just buy you a rose….._

 

Louis looks at Harry with a determined expression, voice sharp as he says, “Their words don’t matter, okay? Listen to me Haz, don’t ever, _ever_ try to change yourself for anyone, not even for me. Understand? You don’t need to, nor should you ever have to,” Louis tells him, and Harry nods a little. Louis pulls him into a deep, long hug, his nose pushing into Harry’s tangle of curls on the top of his head as he feels Harry’s hands circle around his waist, their torsos flushed together. When he pulls back he whispers, softly, into Harry’s ear, “I’d love for you to smile for me again, yeah? Or do I have to give you the whole world for it?”

 

_I will buy the flower shop, and you will never be lonely….._

 

Harry chuckles and presses their foreheads together, his eyes closed and mouth upturned in a slight smile, face now warm and open like a perfect summer day.

 

“Maybe later,” Harry murmurs.

 

“You can count on it.” Louis responds with a wink and a sunny smile, pulling another soft giggle out of Harry.

 

They sit together like that for a little while, but eventually Louis goes down to the kitchen to fetch them some tea. When he comes back, Harry is curled up on his side, passed out on the bed. He’s on the wrong side, still in jeans, both hands tucked into his chest and shoes still attached to his feet. Louis sighs gently, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing his fingers through Harry’s scalp as Harry snuffles and shifts a little in his sleep.  

 

_I will not leave, I will not leave 'till it's our time….._

 

Louis finishes his tea, but leaves Harry’s. He changes out of his day clothes and gets himself ready for bed, shooting one last glance at the boy next to him. As he lays down and pulls the covers over both of them, he pushes his hand in between their torsos, finding Harry’s fingers yet again and intertwining them, planning on never letting go.

 

_So just take my hand, you know that I will never leave your side…._

 

…

 

As Harry puts their carry-ons in the compartment above their heads, Louis takes out Harry’s crossword bundle and sets it on the pull out table attached to the seat next to him. There’s a rush of people in the aisle, all busy getting into their seats and putting things away, while Harry and Louis shuffle around contentedly, not seeming to notice the hustle and bustle around them. Darcy huffs in feigned annoyance as she tries to walk around them, practically bouncing in place as she rushes to her seat. Gus is right behind her, dragging the rest of their carry ons down the aisle.

 

Louis sits down in his seat and stares out of the tiny round window, his hands folded in his lap and a far-off look in his face as he watches the other planes roll along the landing strip. When he swallows, a dark shadow crosses his face, and he looks down at his hands. It’s a fleeting memory, a thought he can’t shake off that snags in his mind. It’s like a déjà vu, something he’d seen before, years ago.  

 

“Remember when I was in this exact spot all on my own, H?”

 

Harry, lost in thought trying to remember if they’ve forgotten anything, looks at him with a confused, “Sorry, dear?”

 

Louis looks back out the window, the plane he just had his eyes fixed on finally taking off.

 

“When we’d just gone on hiatus from the band, and everything was a bloody mess. Richard had me in LA for work, and I remember being on this plane, determined to just come back home. Because we’d just had one of our biggest fights ever, didn’t we Haz? And I just had to fly back home to you, because in that moment, nothing else mattered.”  

 

“I remember that,” Harry’s movements had stilled, arms dropped to his sides and a solemn look settling on his features. “That was the longest you had ever been in LA, right? The longest we’d ever had so many miles separating us. Bloody awful, that.” Harry frowns and shakes his head, trying to clear his mind from the cobwebs of old ghosts and closes the compartment above him, moving to sit down on the seat next to Louis.  

 

“Bloody awful,” Louis echoes after a while. “But here we are.”

 

Harry chuckles back, “Here we are.” He turns to his husband sitting beside him and his smile grows triumphant, taking over his face.

 

…

 

The warmth of the candles on the dinner table radiates through the dark room, the shadows of the light they give off flickering onto Harry’s tired face. His eyes are puffy, his hair a big frizzy mess from constantly running his hands through it.  It’s late, the time somewhere after midnight, and Harry’s staring unseeingly at his untouched plate of food in front of him, gone cold ages ago. He can’t really bring himself to eat and he knows its because of the swirling pit in his stomach, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge that. Not yet. He blinks, and leans back into his seat, tipping his head back and heaving a big sigh.

 

 _How things have changed,_ Harry thinks to himself, looking around the quiet and empty house. A house that used to be filled with light, the constant sound of a high pitched laugh and the squeak of sneakers on the floor. Now, only the shadows remain, taunting him. They’re _screaming_ and Harry’s tired of holding his ears shut.

 

He misses _him_ is the thing. Misses having him here, in front of him, where he can see those blue eyes in person and grab onto his wrist, feel his warmth. Tiny phone screens with 5 minute Facetimes and quick goodnight texts wouldn’t ever do it justice, no matter how hard they try to make everything as normal as possible. It’s not normal. None of this is.

 

He looks out the window, the dark sky not giving him any answers, the glass only mirroring his exhausted reflection back at him. Harry can feel his eyelids coming down every now and then, his chin eventually lowering to rest against his chest, and he knows he should head to bed. He hasn’t been sleeping well for a while now, the empty half of the sheets only reminding him of how everything used to be, the pillow staying untouched for what feels like years, longer than it’s ever been, its owner thousands of miles away.

 

Harry curses to himself. He can’t go on like this.

 

He goes to move to the couch, leaving his plate on the table and the dishes in the sink, forgotten. Without even turning on the TV, he just plops down on the couch and sits there. He’s staring off into the distance when his phone rings.

 

Harry whips out his phone and answers it immediately, the first word coming from the other line being, “Sorry.”

 

He doesn’t have to look at the caller ID to know who it is, doesn’t even have to say anything else for them to both release a big breath, one he didn’t even know he was holding in.  

 

Harry keeps quiet. He’s at a loss for words at this point, both of them remembering that the fight that took place the other day had turned into the biggest fight they’ve ever had, period, and it scared the both of them. He sinks back into the couch, and all he can reply back is just, “Hi.”

 

“Are we gonna talk about it? Or are we just gonna dance around it until both of us go crazy again?” a crackly voice says from the other end, a sharp edge lacing his tone, worlds away from the boy he once knew.

 

Moving the fingers of his other hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, Harry closes his eyes and lets out a pained sigh. “You’ve not gone crazy yet, then?”  

 

A soft scoff comes from his speaker, a chuckle, almost, if it could be called that. “Of course I have. I just hide it better than you do.” Louis inhales a big gulp of air, “So let’s. Let’s talk, yeah?”

 

Harry nods, forgetting Louis can’t see him, but then again, he probably knew anyway. Their silence is merging, and they’re simply listening to each other breathe. Even with things being the way they are, just this is enough to make him feel more alive than anything Harry’s experienced in the past few days. _Jesus_. He misses him so badly.

 

“I miss you so badly.” Harry says. “I miss you so much it _hurts_.” His breath is becoming laboured, every gasp that he takes feeling like a knife to the lungs, and it wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard and yet, here they are, hearts aching but unable to mend. Like a stab wound that keeps opening every day, unable to heal. “And I didn’t mean what I said. Last time.”

 

“I know you didn’t.” Louis responds quietly, “I didn’t either. But it still hurt me, and it still hurt you, and we’re gonna figure this out. For better or for worse, right?”

 

_You swore you'd be here 'til we decide that it's our time..._

 

Harry’s eyes are watering, and he’s trying to keep himself from crying. His lips wobble with the effort of keeping his voice level but his voice cracks and he falls apart anyway.

 

“I,”  he starts, taking a big breath, “I took off my ring, after we stopped talking.” Harry chokes over the last word, slapping a hand over his eyes.

 

Harry hears a little sharp intake of breath on the other line and his blood turns to fire.  There’s little knives prickling through his veins and his heartbeat staggers.

 

“That’s okay.” Louis replies, “as long as you didn’t throw it out. You didn’t, did you? You didn’t break our promises.”

 

“God, no Lou. I couldn’t. ” Harry takes a deep breath, “It was impulsive, I-- I didn’t mean it. It’s in my top drawer.” He glances down at his right hand, seeing the little tan line that wraps around his fourth finger, his hand missing the familiar weight.

 

“Do you want to put it back on?” Louis dares to ask, voice even more subdued than before. Harry was dreading this, scared for the direction of this conversation to turn into something without Louis in it. Terrified it might. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this close to breaking apart, seconds away from splintering into a million pieces.

 

Harry bites his lip, letting out a broken, “Of _course_.”

 

“Yeah?” Louis inquires, hesitance lacing his tone, and Harry hates that he ever made Louis uncertain about this, about _them_.

 

He’s nodding again, profoundly this time, “Yes, yes. Of course Lou, fuck.”

 

_Well it's not time, you've never quit in all your life...._

 

Harry sticks his phone between his ear and shoulder and rushes upstairs, socks sliding as he rounds the corner and dashes up the stairs. The door to the room he’d been avoiding all this time is swinging open, the top drawer of his nightstand almost pulled out of its frame. His fingers are frantically searching for the little box, the one the ring was in originally, and his hands shake as he tries to pry it open. He slides it on with tears falling from his chin to the wood of the drawer, his head feeling like it’s been stuffed with cotton.

 

“Baby?” Louis’ voice brings him back into the situation at hand, and he sniffles as he takes his phone back into his hand.

 

He runs a thumb beneath his eyes and coughs.

 

“I’m here, it- it’s back on.”

He can hear Louis’ soft laugh, sounding just as overwhelmed as he is.

 

“Good.” Louis says, a little shaky himself.  “We’re gonna be alright though, it’s okay. I know it.”

 

Harry feels like, for the first time in weeks, he can truly breathe. The pressure he didn’t know had been covering his lungs has been taken off and lifted up in the air like a big, helium-filled balloon, popping when it makes its way to the ceiling.

 

“Me too.” He utters, “I love you. Always.”

 

“Always.” Louis reassures him, “But we do have to talk things through, still.”

 

Swallowing loudly, Harry repositions himself on the bed, crossing his legs and leaning back against the headboard, his head making a slight _thump_. “I know,” He says, “So let’s.”

 

“First, though,” Louis pitches in, “you didn’t change the lock, did you?”

 

“Thought about it, didn’t I?” Harry jokes slightly. “I couldn’t though, no. Why?”. As soon as the words leave Harry’s mouth, he hears a click and a turn in the front door, and the sound of way too familiar footsteps stepping into the hallway. Harry bolts up, putting down his phone and immediately rushing out of the room.

 

“No fucking way,” he starts to say to himself, almost slipping in his hurry to run down the stairs, arms pinwheeling forward as he reaches out to grasp the air in front of him. He rounds the corner, and stops, standing up straight and lowering his arms to his sides.

 

There he is, phone in his lowering hand and suitcase behind him in the doorframe, heavy bags underneath his eyes and his hair a fluffed up greasy mess. He’s right there, standing in front of him, the moon illuminating his body from behind like he’s some kind of hallucination, creating an almost halo around his head.

 

Harry walks up to him hesitantly, until he’s a few feet away. Almost scared to touch.

 

“Are you really here?” Harry asks, too afraid to let go of the breath he’s holding in, too afraid to look away in case he disappears when Harry so much as blinks.

 

A cold hand comes up to touch his heated cheek, eyes locking instantly. The corners of Louis’ mouth pull up a little, quick breaths hitting Harry’s face.

 

_So just take my hand, you know that I will never leave your side…_

 

“Of course.” Louis says, with a barely there chuckle. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

 

Harry lets the breath he’s been holding in whoosh out of his body, shoulders sagging at his side as he gives in and scoops Louis up into his arms, pressing his face into Louis neck. Louis presses his small smile into Harry’s shoulder, tightening his grip on Harry’s shirt and closing his eyes. They both sink to the floor and revel in the presence of each other, soaking it up after ages of being apart. And it’ll be okay. Maybe not right now and maybe not even tomorrow, but Harry knows that he’ll be staring into these eyes and holding these hands for years to come, and right now, it’s enough.

 

_You're the love of my life, you know that I will never leave your side..._

 

…

 

The fragile foundation of Gemma’s house really isn’t made to withhold the dozens of voices bouncing off the walls, or the stomping of so many feet against the worn wooden floors, and the house seems to shake with it. Gemma, who’s situated in front of the hot stove, is yelling some advice at Louis and frantically waving her hands in front of her, as he tries to shake the smoking pan back and forth on the stove. Gemma has taken to bringing it up every five minutes too, how predictably horrendous he’s doing. But even so, Louis can’t seem to care enough to fire back a witty retort, not when his eyes are continuously distracted towards the flashes of movement in the garden, only managing to half heartedly roll his eyes every few seconds. Outside the window next to him, is Harry trying to coax Gemma’s old man of a golden retriever to fetch a ball, the low timbre of his coos and pleads floating through the air. It’s very much endearing, watching the both of them getting frustrated with one another, worn muscles alike.

 

It’s going to be a warm night, the late afternoon sun already starting to sink into the horizon. There’s an orange glow starting to settle over the neighbourhood outside, bleeding through the cracks in the blinds and highlighting the dust motes swirling in the air. Louis watches as a breeze blows past both of his sisters and ruffles their hair, sitting and chatting on Gemma’s old bench at the very end of her yard. The kids chase each other in circles through the garden, their families reunited and filling up every nook and cranny in the sprawling house, making it lived in, loved, full of life.

 

_And so we move out to the garden and look at everything we've grown...._

 

Louis sighs happily, completely stopping his motions with the pan in front of him, smoke starting to curl up towards the fan. His siblings, their kids, and even their grandkids all together again is everything he couldn’t have even imagined such a long time ago.

 

Gemma’s shouting brings him back to the present, and she shoos him away, flipping the slightly charred pancake onto a plate and pouring the last of the batter into the sizzling pan. Louis shrugs, and picks up one of the towering plates, walking around towards the glass door that leads into the garden. Yelling a simple “Bailey!” brings the old dog waddling over to him and taking in the scent of the freshly-baked pancakes, her interested nose sniffing out her next prey. Louis is about to take one off to feed to her, when Harry grumbles at him through the window.

 

“She’s not supposed to eat people food, Lou!” He exclaims, a crease forming in between his eyebrows.

 

Louis chuckles, waving a bit of pancake above Bailey’s following eyes, “Ah, one bite isn’t going to hurt her, is it?” He chuckles as he drops a piece down towards her, Bailey falling on it and instantly demolishing it.

 

“It’s going to hurt me, though,” Gemma pops in behind Louis, a plate identical to his in her hands, “Because I’m going to miss that bite in my stomach later. Now get everyone to the table, would ya?”

 

Louis raises both his hands in front of his chest as if to say ‘ _it’s your call_ ’, and then tilts his head and spins on his heel with the plate of pancakes to set on the dinner table, calling to the rest of the Tomlinson clan to make their way to the dining room.

 

Gemma shakes her head at Louis retreating form, Harry stomping up the steps from the outside and coming to stand next to her to kiss her forehead, chuckling softly.

 

“C’mon, let’s go join the others before all the food is gone,” Gemma says, a lingering smirk on her face. Gemma has aged beautifully, her once-dyed white hair now an authentic soft silver, pinned up in a bun behind head, soft laughter lines framing her eyes. Regal as ever, she smooths her apron down and stands up straight, turning to flick a slightly raised eyebrow at her younger brother.

 

_And now the kids are coming home..._

 

As soon as they enter the dining room and sit down, their voices are drowned out by the loud chatter going on across the whole table, stacks of pancakes steadily being depleted as hands reach out, over and under and around to snatch the last of them. Louis has a forkful of pancakes in his right hand, waving it around in front of him as he tells a story with his eyes wide and voice loud, the syrup dripping onto his plate. Daisy, Phoebe, Doris, and Ernest sit across from Louis, along the far side of the large rectangular expanse of wood while Lottie sits at the head of the table, lecturing her grandkids on how to use their cutlery properly. Harry spots Augustus with Felicite’s granddaughter on his lap, pointing at something inside a coloring book, while Darcy flies in and out of the kitchen area assisting Gemma in the clean up and finishing touches. Chaos paints the dining room in a barrage of noise and color, multiple conversations bouncing and crashing against each other, yet when Harry’s hand finds Louis’, time seems to stop.

 

_So I'll set the table..._

 

Louis turns away from his lecture quickly and whispers to him quietly, lips coming close to brush against his husbands ear.

 

“What’s up, H?”

 

Harry moves into the touch, turning his head and brushing their wrinkled noses together gently. They can hear the groans and makeshift-gagging sounds from around them, the long weathered sighs from Gemma and Lottie, a breathy laugh escaping Harry’s mouth. His lips curl up and his eyes crinkle at the edges. “Just,” he starts, “looking at everything we’ve grown together. ”

 

Louis hums contentedly, breaking eye contact and sweeping his eyes around the bustling room. “I’d say we’ve done alright.” Louis replies, his serene, blue eyes pooling with warmth. Before Harry can even react, there’s sugarcubes pelting the side of his face, his ears finally picking up on the jibes coming from the other side of the table. He makes an unamused grumble at the tittering people across the table and brushes his thumb over the back of Louis’ hand, sending him another small smile before diving back into his meal.

 

Dinner ends and night falls. The once up-to-the-brim filled house slowly turns empty as people start to turn in for the night, footsteps leading out the door with every kiss given on a cheek and a promise for another dinner later on in the month.

 

Gemma lets out a relieved sigh and walks into the kitchen again, the swing of a cabinet door opening and a soft _hmph_ following in her wake. Harry walks through the door a few seconds later to spot his older sister with a bag of marshmallows in her hands, looking down at it with a slight frown on her face.

 

“We never opened the marshmallows I bought.”

 

Louis, who has silently found his way behind Harry in the doorway after kissing his sisters goodbye, barks out a loud laugh. He walks up to his sister-in-law and takes the bags from her hands. “How about we light another fire outside, then?” He announces, “Gus?”

 

A dark mop of hair appears around the corner and Gus calls out, “Yeah, dad?”

 

“Find me some dry wood and your sister for me, yeah? We’re roasting marshmallows tonight.”

 

A few minutes pass as Augustus hands log after log to his father poking at the fire pit, and within moments there’s a decent fire lighting up the garden, chasing away any shadows that have settled there. Darcy and Augustus scurry around it, fueling it with sticks and leaves and bits of ripped up newspaper. The ripping sound of the plastic bags of marshmallows explodes into the air, Darcy tipping her head back and letting out a firecracker laugh a couple seconds later as Augustus stares dejectedly at his messed up marshmallow, slowly melting into the fire.

 

“Do you need your scarf, Lou?” Harry calls out from inside the house, putting on his boots and jacket. “It’s getting pretty cold out there.”

 

“Nah, I’m good honey!” Louis yells, while Harry grumbles out a _he’s gonna need one, mark my words_ and Gemma giggles next to him quietly.

 

They make their way out to join the kids and Louis, moving the benches from the far end to where the fire is located, and once they’re all seated around the warmth of the flames, conversations pick up from where they were left. Louis shivers and Harry wraps his scarf around him, rolling his eyes. Gemma’s knowing look follows them from the corners of her eyes, and as cheesy as it sounds, Harry feels like his life never fit so well as much as it does now, flowing seamlessly and stretching out into forever.

 

It took some time, maybe, but the words he thought of all those years ago, holding onto Louis’ hand, came true after all.

 

Things did turn out okay.

 

_You can make the fire…._

**Author's Note:**

> leave all the comments you like to scream with us, please, or send us asks on: 
> 
> www.louiswantstomarryharry.tumblr.com  
> and  
> www.rosealouis.tumblr.com 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading this!


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